


A Long Night

by citrinesunset



Category: Inception
Genre: First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-05 19:19:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrinesunset/pseuds/citrinesunset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a job goes wrong, Arthur returns to his hotel injured. When Eames shows up, he helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Long Night

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://dream-holiday.livejournal.com/profile)[**dream_holiday**](http://dream-holiday.livejournal.com/) for [](http://acromantular.livejournal.com/profile)[**acromantular**](http://acromantular.livejournal.com/), who said they like conflict, stylish criminals, witty repartee, physical altercation conflated with attraction, DIY emergency medicine, international travel, and confusion. I tried to incorporate some of those things here. I haven't written much Arthur/Eames before, but I really enjoyed writing this.

They were supposed to meet at the hotel at seven. It was eight-thirty when Arthur swiped his keycard with his good hand and stumbled into his room.

 

There was no sign of Eames, not that Arthur had been expecting to see him waiting outside his door. He considered going upstairs to check Eames's room. But first, he set his bag and the PASIV on the floor and, despite his better judgment, collapsed on the bed.

 

He immediately decided it was a bad idea – the adrenaline that'd kept him going was wearing off, and now that he was flat on his back, he didn't know if he could get up again. His head and wrist throbbed. His legs ached from running. His shirt clung to his body with sweat.

 

It was times like this when he thought a boring life might not be so bad. He'd never loved anything like he loved dream sharing, but damned if he didn't think Cobb had the right idea sometimes, getting out.

 

In the morning, of course, he'd feel more optimistic. At least, he would if he got out of the country okay, and if their employer didn't decide that the difficulty he and Eames encountered earlier was grounds for termination of payment. But for now, he allowed himself a moment to feel sorry for himself, and for his injured hand.

 

There was a knock on the door. Arthur peeled himself off the bed with a stifled groan. He pulled out his gun, wincing at the pain as he tried to wield it in his dominate hand, and walked to the door. He didn't have it in him for another fight, but he steeled himself for one, anyway. Looking through the peephole, he saw Eames. He opened the door, but didn't lower his guard, even after Eames casually brushed past him into the room.

 

"Sorry I'm late," he said. "Had to make sure I wasn't followed."

 

"You weren't, I trust." Arthur closed the door and put his gun in the holster.

 

"'Course not." Eames turned and looked him up and down. His eyes lingered on the gash on Arthur's forehead. "How about you? You all right?"

 

"I'll be fine. You should see the other guys." He took off his holster and put it on top of the dresser. Eames watched him.

 

"You're favoring your left arm."

 

"Like I said," he snapped, "I'll be fine. What about you? What the hell happened back there? You got out pretty quick."

 

Eames raised an eyebrow. "Are you accusing me of something? I didn't just bugger off, you know. I had two of those bastards after me, too."

 

"And do you have any theories on that?"

 

"On why our mark's bodyguards showed up? No, I was rather hoping you did. You're the one who did most of the planning on this wonderful fiasco."

 

"Well, I thought we had our bases covered. So I'm sure you can forgive me for being a little on edge right now."

 

Eames scoffed and shook his head. "If you're looking for someone to blame, you have better options than me. Besides, no way were they tipped off ahead of time. We never could have pulled off the job if they were. So don't start getting paranoid now. We still have to collect our money."

 

"Right."

 

It wasn't like Arthur had any reason to think Eames sold them out. He wasn't sure if he even suspected it or not. All he knew was that Eames _could_ have done it, if he'd wanted to. Arthur wasn't naive, and a job gone bad wasn't a good time to start trusting people.

 

"So," Arthur continued, "you're saying it was just bad luck?"

 

Eames thought for a moment. He put his hands on his hips and shook his head. "Well, I haven't had a whole lot of time to think about it, but sure. Bad luck. Most plausible option, unless that girl you paid to keep watch got cold feet and told."

 

"Well, let's just worry about getting outta here and meeting Mr. Gregory tomorrow. Hopefully this won't upset him." He sighed and looked down at his right hand. "Fuck. I think my wrist is broken."

 

Eames looked at Arthur's right wrist and nodded. "Looks swollen. Painful?"

 

Arthur glared at him. "What do you think?"

 

"And what about your head?"

 

"That's not as bad as it looks."

 

Arthur walked over to the small refrigerator. There were mini bottle of liquor inside, and he selected one without looking at it. After a few attempts to open it one-handed, Eames walked over to him. He took the bottle, twisted the cap off, and handed it back.

 

"I can fix you up, if you'd like," Eames said.

 

Arthur took a swift drink and didn't answer. He wasn't in the mood to accept help, but didn't want to turn it down, either. He shrugged noncommittally.

 

"I'll run up to my room and be right back."

 

"All right."

 

After Eames left him, Arthur looked out the window. He liked Berlin, and was a little sorry he couldn't stick around to see more of it. There could be another visit someday, sure, but not until he was sure he didn't have a bounty on his head.

 

Of course, he couldn't complain. He'd known for a long time that this job could be trouble. He'd never liked the task of getting their mark away from his four armed bodyguards. Arthur had always seen himself as being more sensible, more careful, than to take on something like that. He may have lived a dangerous life, but he didn't do anything ridiculous unless he had to.

 

Arthur went into the bathroom and cleaned himself up the best he could. He splashed cool water on his face, and gingerly ran his hand under the faucet. When he heard Eames knock, he dried off and went to the door.

 

Eames had a bucket of ice and a first aid kit. "Go on," he said, like he was directing a child, "sit down."

 

Arthur ignored his tone and asked, "You ever treat a broken wrist before?" He sat down on the large hotel bed.

 

"I'm no stranger to broken bones."

 

Two of Eames's fingers were crooked. Arthur had noticed it before, and he looked at them now. He didn't say anything about it.

 

Eames sat beside him on the bed and opened the first aid kit. He took out a role of bandages and gently lifted Arthur's wrist, which he began to wrap. To Arthur's relief, he made no attempts at comfort or reassurance. Arthur pursed his lips, breathed deeply, and pretended it didn't hurt as much as it did.

 

"You think I can get by without seeing a doctor?" Arthur asked, forcing a smile.

 

"It doesn't seem like a bad fracture. Mind you, I'm no doctor myself."

 

He didn't want to mess with a doctor, but he didn't know what he'd do if the break didn't heal right. "Once we have our money and this job's all over, I'll try to see someone."

 

"Might be wise."

 

Arthur watched Eames work. His hands were large, but surprisingly steady.

 

When he was finished with Arthur's wrist, Eames moved to his head. He dabbed the gash on Arthur's forehead with an alcohol swab, making Arthur suck in his breath from the sting, and started to apply gauze and a large Band-Aid.

 

He was leaning close, and Arthur noticed that he smelled clean but sweaty, with hints of cologne and cigarettes.

 

"Now," Eames said, as he finished affixing the bandage, "you don't really think I would have sold you out."

 

"When I'm being chased down by a couple guys who want to kill me, I don't really know _what_ to think. Besides, I notice you're unscathed."

 

"Only because I ran like a smart person."

 

"I couldn't leave everything behind. My stuff, the PASIV . . . ."

Eames smirked and shook his head. He started to put away the first aid kit. "You wouldn't have invited me to work with you on this if you didn't trust me."

 

Arthur scoffed. "In this business? If I only worked with people I trust, that doesn't leave me many options."

 

"You don't work with many people. You stuck with Cobb for a long time."

 

"I did." Arthur sighed. "And yeah, you're probably right: today was bad luck. I trust you enough."

 

"You flatter me," Eames said. He was silent for a moment, and then nodded at Arthur's wrist. "Keep that still. You should put it on ice. Maybe later I can find something to make a splint. The bandages should hold up all right for now, but you'll want to be careful."

 

Arthur sat back on the bed. He used his good hand to pile the pillows up against the headboard, and leaned against them. He pulled his feet up on the bed. "You're going up to your room, now?"

 

Eames smiled. "Sure, unless you're inviting me to stay."

 

"Don't pretend to flirt right now. I'm in pain, and liable to punch you." But as Arthur shook his head, he was smiling. He didn't mind it, and he hoped Eames realized that. He didn't often admit it, but he enjoyed Eames's company.

 

"You shouldn't assume I'm pretending."

 

Maybe Eames wasn't. Arthur had never tested him enough to know. Oh, he'd thought about it. He'd thought about it so much that it almost felt like an inevitability, like it was only a matter of time before something came of Eames's stupid looks and comments. Maybe Eames was pretending, maybe he was serious. Arthur had never felt like making a fool of himself enough to find out.

 

After a day like today, it didn't seem to matter so much. Eames was standing by the bed. Arthur brushed his foot against his leg. "Yeah? Maybe I'm not pretending, either."

 

Eames reached down and rubbed Arthur's leg. He looked at Arthur for a reaction, and must have liked what he saw, because he moved his hand up Arthur's thigh, further and further until he stopped a couple inches from Arthur's crotch.

 

"Why'd you stop?" Arthur asked.

 

"Didn't know if you'd actually let me." He laughed. He lifted his hand from Arthur's thigh and ran it through his own hair. "Christ, Arthur, you must be feeling like shit right now. And you're trying to tell me you want to mess around?"

 

"Yeah, I feel like shit. I could use a distraction."

 

"So you want me to stick my hand down there? Is that it?" He put his hand on Arthur's waist and hooked a finger in the waistband of his pants.

 

"I'm saying if you want to, I'm not adverse to it. It's not gonna make me feel worse."

 

Eames sat on the side of bed. He unbuttoned Arthur's fly and tugged at the zipper, and Arthur was almost surprised. He hadn't really known, until now, if Eames was serious. He was glad to realize he was.

 

Eames pulled Arthur's cock out of his underwear and started to stroke it. His hand, his large but deft hand, worked up and down and Arthur closed his eyes and tried focus on it as much as he could, against everything else.

 

When he felt Eames's tongue, he jumped and opened his eyes. Eames stopped and pulled back. "All right?" he asked. "Too much?"

 

"No, it's good."

 

Assured, Eames leaned back down and slid his mouth over Arthur's cock. Arthur shuddered at the warmth of it.

 

He'd thought about this more than he cared to admit, but he'd never pictured it like this, exactly. On another night, it could have been a great blowjob. Tonight, it was still pretty good. If Arthur was too tired and too hurt to lose himself, he could still appreciate it. He ran his good hand through Eames's hair, and caressed the back of his neck.

 

Eames was patient and adept. He swallowed Arthur's come and then sat up and kissed him. Arthur could taste himself on Eames's lips. Eames's stubble scratched his chin.

 

"Did that distract you?" Eames asked.

 

Arthur chuckled. "Mm. Yeah. It did. I can do you, if you want."

 

"Only if you feel like it. Don't want to wear you too much."

 

He stroked Eames's shoulder. "At least stick around, all right? Keep me company until we can go get our money."

 

"Of course," Eames said with a grin. "I was hoping you'd ask."

 

It would be a long night, and somewhere out there were men who wanted to hunt them down, but Arthur didn't care.  



End file.
